by Jo Goodman
“More and more I am asked to judge the authenticity of a particular work,” Neven said. “Some people have been generous in their compliments, and that has led to more opportunities to judge other works. I hope I do not flatter myself when I say my services seemed to have discouraged false claims.”
“I recommended you to Mrs. Stuart,” Emma said. “It is a Tintoretto, I believe, that she wishes to learn about. She brought it back from Italy. Did she seek you out? It was some time ago.”
“She did. Only last week. She failed to mention how I came to her attention. In truth, I thought it was Marisol. The piece is not a Tintoretto, though I think you suspected that.” He leaned forward a fraction and offered in more confidential, knowing tones, “Mrs. Stuart is a lively, vastly entertaining woman, but a bit of a Philistine, don’t you think? Did you know she purchased the painting because she thought it complemented the wall color in her morning room?”
Emma was not in the least dismayed. “I am delighted to hear it,” she said. “The piece gives her pleasure. She will see it every day when she looks up from her sewing or her reading, and she will smile, quite satisfied that she had the good sense to find such a remarkable work. She will be reminded of her tour of Italy, perhaps of an evening in Tuscany where she shared the balcony view with her husband, and the whole of it will make her happy. Such a memory can only improve her mood. She will be kind to her children, her servants, and even kinder to her husband. Mr. Stuart, as it happens, sits on the high court, so it is of some consequence to a great many people when he is treated kindly.” Emma concluded her justification of Mrs. Stuart’s artistic choice with a beatific smile. “Such is the power of art.”
Restell did not think that Neven Charters was often at a loss for words. Emma was to be congratulated for bringing the thing about. Charters looked as if he’d been pushed back in his chair by the force of Emma’s peculiar defense. Restell suspected that while the man might be used to this sort of recounting from Marisol, he was unprepared for the same from her cousin.
“You have convinced me,” Restell told Emma. “I am cheerfully content to be a Philistine.”
“You do not wish to improve yourself?” Neven asked.
“I confess, it has never held much interest. I count myself fortunate to know a great many people who regularly apply themselves to improving me.”
Emma placed her fingers against her lips and politely cleared her throat, all of it in aid of keeping her laughter in check. She could not help but notice that Neven was not amused. He smiled, but there was no appreciation in it. It seemed he was not prepared to give Restell Gardner the least forebearance.
Emma decided it would be prudent to discuss the purpose for the visit. For reasons she had no wish to refine upon, her companions were nipping at each other’s heels. It occurred to her that Marisol had not been wrong to adopt the canine metaphor. Restell Gardner reminded her of a playful retriever, while Neven Charters had much in common with a bull terrier. In any event, she was prepared to fit them both for leashes.
“You know why we are come?” she asked Neven.
“Sir Arthur explained it in the note he sent round this morning. He was somewhat cryptic in his correspondence, but I believe I understand the gist of it. You wish to discuss the events of one month ago.”
“In truth,” Emma said, “I would prefer to discuss anything else, but it is necessary that we do so. I have engaged Mr. Gardner’s assistance in the matter. He will explain the whole of it to you.”
Restell was prevented from beginning because of the arrival of the refreshment. He observed Mr. Charters controlling the interview by taking his time in instructing his housekeeper to set the service and offer the lemonade and sandwiches. The tactic was infinitely more interesting than it was irritating, and Restell simply waited out his host.
“We will not keep you overlong,” Restell said when they were alone again.
Neven’s response was directed at Emma. “Whatever you need, Miss Hathaway, for as long as you need it.”
Restell’s lips twitched. He pressed the glass of lemonade to his mouth to hide his reaction and sipped. “We would like to hear what you can recall from the day Miss Hathaway was abducted. Sir Arthur and Miss Vega have given us to understand that you volunteered to begin an investigation.”
Neven turned slightly in his chair and took several long moments to appraise Restell. “What exactly is the nature of the assistance you are providing Sir Arthur and his family?”
“Miss Hathaway, not Sir Arthur Vega, is my client. She has applied to me for protection for herself and her cousin.”
Neven’s dark brows drew together as he glanced at Emmalyn. “Is this true?” When she nodded, he asked, “Why did you not come to me? And for Marisol also? She has said nothing.”
Emma offered the explanation before Restell could speak. When she finished, she saw that Neven was only marginally mollified. She could appreciate that as her cousin’s fiancé he believed it was his responsibility to act on Marisol’s behalf. That he appeared to think he had some obligation where she was concerned was unexpected. “Marisol only learned yesterday that she may have been the intended target of the attack,” Emma reminded him. “I should not have borrowed her pelisse or her bonnet. There would be no suspicion otherwise.” It was not entirely true, but she had managed to keep her promise to Marisol thus far and hoped to continue.
“Why did you borrow them?” Neven asked. “That seems unlike you.”
“Convenience, I’m afraid. They were at hand.”
“Marisol did not tell me this at the time.”
“Are you certain?” Restell asked.
Ice edged Neven’s tone. “I would remember.”
Restell did not argue the point. It was probably true. “When you went to Madame Chabrier’s, did you speak to the milliner?”
“The shop was closed when I arrived. It was already late in the day. I went back the following morning and spoke to one of the shop girls. She was less than helpful.”
“You never spoke to Madame Chabrier?”
“I returned again on the pretext of making a purchase and observed the woman was a gossip of the worst sort. Sir Arthur was clear that he did not want to arouse the wags. I elected to look around and found nothing to support Marisol’s claim that Miss Hathaway had gone to the milliner’s.”
“The shop girl did not remember her?”
Neven shook his head. “No. At least not the girl I spoke to. I recall that she was young and mayhap dull-witted, but she was earnest and wanted to please. There was no reason to doubt her account.”
“The fact that she was earnest and wanted to please is the very reason one must be suspicious. Perhaps she was speaking the truth as she knew it, but it is also possible that she suspected you did not want confirmation of Miss Hathaway’s presence, and so she answered you accordingly.”
“Ridiculous. Why wouldn’t I want to know if she had been there?”
“Because you knew she had gone to meet Mr. Kincaid.”
Neven’s attention swiveled to Emma. “This is true?”
Emma could not fathom what had prompted Restell to make his assertion. While it was certainly true that she had visited the shop to meet Mr. Kincaid, she didn’t understand why Restell was so sure Neven knew it. It required a moment longer for her to realize that Marisol must have lied to her fiancé from the beginning. She sighed, more out of patience with herself than her cousin. Marisol, at least, had been acting predictably. Emma found her own gullibility troubling.
“Didn’t Marisol explain all to you when she asked you to find me?”
“She did,” Neven said. “Of course she did. Perhaps I should not admit it, but I found the whole of her story suspect.”
Restell’s position as Emma’s protector dictated that he remain properly skeptical. It was not difficult. “What did she reveal to you?”
Neven set his glass of lemonade on the serving tray. He crossed his long legs as he leaned back in his chair. “I tru
st that you will not speak of what I am going to say to Miss Vega. I must have your word on that.” He looked to both of his guests for their promise. When they nodded, he went on. “While my affection for Marisol knows no bounds, I find that she is given to prevarication when the truth would serve her as easily. I’m afraid I assumed a lie when she revealed that Miss Hathaway went to the milliner’s to meet Kincaid.”
“What did you imagine the truth to be?”
His eyes shifted momentarily to Emma, but he returned his attention to Restell when he answered. “I don’t know that I gave it a great deal of thought.”
“Truly?”
“Truly,” Neven said flatly. “It seemed to me that the pressing matter was the task at hand. Regardless of the reasons Miss Hathaway had for leaving her home, the salient point was that she had not returned. When my visits to Madame Chabrier did not reveal anything of import, I prepared to make other inquiries. As it happened, Miss Hathaway revealed her whereabouts before I took that action.”
“You saw her soon after her return?” Restell watched Neven and Emma exchange a glance that he did not immediately understand. As soon as he realized Emma was preparing to respond he hit upon the answer, interrupting her before she’d uttered a single word. “It was Mr. Charters who came for you, is that it?”
Emma nodded. “When I sent word to my uncle that I was safe, he asked Mr. Charters to do him the great favor of traveling to Walthamstow to attend me on the journey back to London. Sir Arthur also sent my maid.”
“Marisol did not go?”
“No,” Neven said. “She wanted to accompany me, but I refused her request. Rightly so, I believe. She would not have been comfortable at the pace I set.”
“I assume Sir Arthur’s health prevented him from making the journey.”
Neven nodded, rubbing his chin. “The rheumatism. Traveling would have been difficult. He was anxious to have Miss Hathaway returned with all due speed. That necessitated that he remain behind.”
“He holds you in great esteem,” Restell said.
“I was honored to be asked to assist him and happy to oblige. Naturally, I wish the circumstances had been different.”
“Yes,” Restell said. “There is that.”
Neven Charters made no reply. His jaw was so firmly set a muscle jumped in his cheek.
Restell politely excused himself as he stood. He went to the table just inside the doorway and retrieved the box he’d set there upon entering. “I wonder if you would be so good as to look at some drawings?”
Neven glanced at Emma. “Drawings? To what purpose?”
“They are sketches of Mr. Kincaid,” Emma said. “You might be able to settle the question of which one is most like the man. Marisol and I were ever at odds choosing among them.”
Restell removed the drawings of Kincaid from the box and carried them to Neven. “To my way of thinking, your ability to authenticate one of these will be your most important contribution in matters of art.”
Neven held out his hand without comment. He looked at all four sketches briefly before he studied them in earnest. “This one,” he said. “You must allow that I spent little enough time in Kincaid’s company. He seemed wholly unexceptional, and I cannot recall that he ever entered into a discussion of the sort that interested me, but this one may have captured the look of him. It is the brow, I think, that sets it apart. You can see that it is high and wide, though perhaps not so pronounced as this drawing suggests. However, I recall thinking he had deeply set eyes. That would explain the attention to the forehead.”
Restell accepted the drawings and returned to his seat. He turned over the corner of the one Neven had selected and saw that it was Marisol’s second choice and Emma’s third. “Thank you. That is helpful.”
“I fail to comprehend the purpose for this. If you want an accurate sketch of Mr. Kincaid, shouldn’t you apply to the man himself?”
Restell explained all the reasons it was not possible. “Is there anything you can tell us that would aid our search?”
Neven Charters shook his head slowly. His expression was no longer shuttered, but a revealing mix of surprise and concern. “I’m afraid there is nothing. I do not know if you can appreciate how I wish it were otherwise.”
“I think I can,” Restell said quietly.
Emma’s clasp on her glass of lemonade tightened. She was not prepared for Restell to let it go so easily. “What about his friends? Are you aware of any?”
One of Neven’s dark brows kicked up. “How is it you are not?” he asked. “Clearly, you had some affection for the man, else you would not have agreed to meet him. Can you have made the arrangement knowing so little about him that you cannot name a single intimate?”
Emma flushed deeply at the rebuke. Knowing it was well-deserved did not make it easier to receive. It was Marisol who needed to hear it, and Emma felt a passing urge to give her cousin up. She did not act on it, however, suspecting that Neven would not deliver the same admonition to his fiancée. In a moment of clarity, Emma understood that Neven’s expectations of Marisol were significantly different than the expectations he had of her.
“I comprehend that you think it is out of character for me,” Emma said, forcing herself to meet his critical study. “But I cannot be the only person who acts precipitously when she imagines herself in love.”
“In love?” he asked. “That is what it was to you?”
Restell thought Emma looked as if she’d been thrown into the Thames with weights tied around her ankles. He did not think she’d come up again for air. His sigh was inaudible as he prepared to extend a figurative hand and pull her out of the drink. “Love regularly makes a fool of me,” Restell said, bringing Neven’s attention around.
“One imagines it is not that difficult,” Neven said.
Restell’s smile was good-natured. “Yes, well, I retain wit enough about me not to judge others when my own imperfections are so apparent.”
Neven set his jaw again and his nostrils flared slightly. He did not attempt to speak for several long moments. When he did address Restell, it was in answer to Emma’s earlier question. “I am unfamiliar with Mr. Kincaid’s friends. If you like, I can ask the Newbolts. Kincaid was a guest in their home on several occasions.”
“It will not be necessary,” Restell said. “I have spoken to them and several others besides. They cannot agree on how they came to invite him.”
Neven frowned. “How can that be?”
“Gentlemen like Kincaid have any number of ruses they use to insinuate themselves into a particular social circle. In my experience it is generally for purposes of developing a plan to rob their hosts. That does not appear to be the motive here, but then we do not yet entirely understand the motive.”
“I thought there was a robbery.” Neven slanted a look at Emma. “Did you not tell me your reticule was taken?”
“Yes, that’s true. I did not have coin for the innkeeper.”
Restell shook his head, not in negation of what Emma said, but to prevent a misunderstanding. “Any street thief would have cut the strings of her purse and run off. The idea is to be quick. Snick. Snack. Done. Unless the victim puts up a fight or gives chase there is often little harm. Emma’s injuries were far too extensive to have been sustained in a single struggle. Her reticule was taken, but it was an afterthought, not the purpose.”
Emma stared at Restell. She had never mentioned the loss of her reticule, yet he understood it so well that he might have witnessed the very thing she could not remember. “I wish I could be more helpful. I cannot recall when I was relieved of it.”
“It is no matter,” Restell said under his breath. The look he darted in Emma’s direction cautioned her from speaking further. When she didn’t, he wasn’t certain if she was respecting his warning or if it was simply that she had no more to say. He suspected it was the latter. Emmalyn Hathaway was not the most tractable of females.
Restell rolled the sketches into a cylinder and lightly tapped his
knee. “If you think of anything that might be helpful,” he said to Neven, “I hope you will seek me out.”
“I certainly will make Sir Arthur privy to my information.”
Restell chose not to take issue with Neven’s slight. He simply nodded as if his host’s response was entirely satisfactory and prepared to take his leave. He was prevented from doing so when Emma unexpectedly seized his wrist. Her fingernails dug into his skin. Surprised, and not a little discomfited by her grip, Restell looked to her for an explanation. As soon as he saw her tight-lipped smile and the set of her jaw, he understood. Without realizing it, he had been beating a tattoo against his knee with the cylinder he’d made of the sketches. He was fortunate, he supposed, that he’d left his walking stick in the carriage. The half-moon impressions that her nails scored in his skin were quite enough consequence.
“Why don’t you take the sketches?” Restell said. He felt Emma’s grip ease immediately. He thought she showed admirable restraint when she did not snatch the drawings from his hand. The presence of Neven Charters was no doubt responsible in some measure for the care she took. The pains taken to produce the drawings accounted for the rest.
Emma smoothed the sketches across her lap. She was aware of Neven’s consternation. The small drama that he’d witnessed could not have possibly made sense to him, but she had no intention of explaining it to him. “Mr. Gardner and I have imposed upon you long enough,” she said. Both men stood in unison when she rose to her feet. “I hope you will come to dinner soon. We so enjoy your company at our table.”
“I should like that.”
“I will speak to Marisol. She has been remiss in not extending an invitation.”
“I believe that was in deference to your own health.”
Emma nodded. “I thought it might be the reason. Thank you for your help, Mr. Charters. I am most grateful for all you have done.”
